


Words Never Said

by BakerStTardis (Sokashi)



Series: Johnlock Advent [3]
Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 21:30:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5349188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sokashi/pseuds/BakerStTardis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were certain words that John never said. </p><p>And once Sherlock noticed, he couldn't let it go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words Never Said

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism and beta remarks are not welcome, thank you.
> 
> Day Three Johnlock Advent and boy did this one get away from me. Nothing like writing almost 3000 words in a couple of hours while cooking then trying to edit them before bed.
> 
> So if there are any mistakes or really awkward lines I'm sorry!
> 
> Beware it's super cheesy fluff time.

There were certain words that John never said. 

And once Sherlock noticed, he couldn't let it go. 

*****

"This is why you wear gloves, Sherlock. It may be a lab in our kitchen, but it's still a lab." John dabbed at the burns on Sherlock's hands. He'd miscalculated. A bit. Holding his violin would be a little more difficult for a few days but he'd had to try. He'd HAD to. 

"It's nothing, They're fine." Sherlock said more dismissively than he felt. 

"They're not fine." John argued but the look on his face was fond. "There. Keep the bandages dry and let them rest for a couple of days." 

Sherlock's heart thumped, brain scrambling around the pain in an effort to lead John to the words he wanted to hear. "Why should I?" He sniffed.

"Because they won't heal, otherwise." John said patiently. "And you want to be able to play at our Christmas party don't you?" John patted his leg without waiting for an answer and stood. "I'll finish cleaning up. Order us some dinner."

The words went unsaid.

*****

The case was a good one. A nine, easily. It was a puzzle with a MISSING puzzle. There was a case of mistaken identity and a surprsie identical twin and a chase through the London streets that had John and Sherlock grinning, all but whooping for joy as they chased down their thief. John pulled ahead, a burst of speed that had him knocking the thief sprawling while Sherlock jumped a fence to catch up. Sherlock paused halfway over, then let himself stumble, just a little, catching his leg on the top of the fence.

John didn't notice until Lestrade had taken the thief away and was following Sherlock towards a taxi to head home. "What did you do this time? Let me see." He tried to peer at Sherlock's leg but Sherlock pressed a hand to it, covering the wound. The words were close, he could feel it. 

"It's just a scratch. You made me get my tetanus last week, so you don't need to worry." Sherlock's heart thumped hard. He wondered if John could tell, wondered if this time he'd say them.

John looked up at him, a little smile on his face and Sherlock held his breath. "I always worry about you, you berk. I'm your friend." He said and hustled Sherlock into Baker Street, oblivious to his disappointment. "All right, trousers off and let me see."

Sherlock decided to try again, sweeping his coat tight around him. "Why?" He challenged.

"So I can bandage it of course." John came into the room with the first aide kit and gave Sherlock a curious look. "You didn't hit your head, did you?"

Insulted, Sherlock sniffed. "Of course not. I can just bandage it myself."

To his surprsie John just laughed and drew close, tugging the coat from Sherlock's shoulders. "Trousers off, Sherlock." He said sounding fond. "Why do you have to make things so difficult?"

"Why are you so oblivious?" Sherlock challenged but let his trousers fall. John muttered something Sherlock couldn't make out and sat on the coffee table putting Sherlock's thigh and the wound eye level. Sherlock stared down at him. "What was that?" 

John sighed and cut his eyes up at Sherlock as he dabbed at the blood. "Nothing important." His breath stirred the hairs on Sherlock leg making his spine tingle. He frowned slightly and shifted on his feet feeling discomforted but not quite sure why. Puzzled, he stayed silent, just staring down at John until he moved again. "This isn't too bad. Just no more running for a bit, yeah?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth to demand why- last chance for the words this time- only John laughed and cut him off. "And don't do it because I asked you not to. Isn't that good enough?"

Sherlock frowned and grabbed his trousers, hauling them up his legs, but didn't reply.

*****

John paced the living room, phone clutched in his hand. Sherlock was missing. Well, not missing. It had only been a couple hours and he'd responded to John's text an hour before but he wasn't at Barts or with Lestrade. Mrs. Hudson said he'd stormed out earlier as if on a mission, but he'd gone without John. Without even telling John what was going on and something was definitely going on. John may not be a genius but Sherlock wasn't a klutz and in the last couple of weeks he'd gotten himself injured way too many times. 

The burns in the kitchen, the cut from the fence (as if Sherlock had ever had a problem leaping fences). John had barely survived that one, bandaging the cut on Sherlock's bare leg. Seeing his friend stand there in nothing but his snug expenisve pants in the middle of the sitting room looking down at John while John was working... Just the thought of it had made John flush for the rest of the week and he'd barely managed such a minuscule task while keeping a professional manner. Then there were the scratches along Sherlock's back from that leap off a fire escape that had required John to straddle a topless Sherlock in bed to pick out gravel and clean the wounds. Sherlock had been challenging and childish about the whole thing, but John knew, just KNEW that for some reason his friend was orchestrating it all.

Striding to the window, John looked out at the Christmas crowds on the street. Families loaded with packages, cabbies in santa hats and lights strung everywhere, but no Sherlock. He strode back to his chair then practically jumped out of his skin when his phone vibrated a text from Mycroft. An address. Fearing the worst, John grabbed his coat and ran out the door. A taxi appeared and took him on what felt like the longest cab ride in existance. John wasn't even sure what part of London they were in, he'd paid so little attention, then leapt out again throwing money at the cabbie and yelling for him to stay put.

John could expect a lot of things from Sherlock. Being kidnapped. Under arrest. Locked in a closet for some brilliant reason John would never guess. Even lurking in a drug den although that was the one John feared the most. This was none of those things. John stared up at the ancient looking building and listened to the cheers from within. He frowned, setting his shoulders and striding inside and telling himself he was not going to lose his temper. He wasn't. 

The noise grew louder as he entered. There were uniformed men at the doors, but no one stopped him, no one questioned him. He followed the noise of the crowd across marble floors and around tall pillars until he came to a pair of double doors that were open to the building, the sounds of cheering and yells spilling out. Inside were too many well dressed men. A sea of bespoke suits so casually rumpled and negliengtly stretched as they cheered and drank and watched the two men in the ring fight. 

Boxing.

Sherlock was boxing. Bare chested, curls dripping sweat, trousers hanging low on his bony hips. His hands were wrapped in tape that was pink with blood and he should have looked like a mess. Or vicious or feral. What he looked was sharp and hard and focused in a way that made John freeze and have trouble swallowing. The man fighting him was just as tall but twice as wide. He sported a swollen eye and a bloody grin as he swung at Sherlock who ducked but barely, his body slower in a way John recognized. Sherlock must have been fighting a while because he was on his was on his last legs. His motions were dragging. It didn't show in the sharp punches he landed, though, and John winced when the man swung again, clipping Sherlock's chin and sending him reeling back. The sight shot John into action, shoving to the edge of the ring and standing there expectantly. He didn't need to yell Sherlock's name or wave to get his attention. This was Sherlock. He'd know. Sure enough, a couple of swings and a dodge later, Sherlock looked up and met his eyes. There was surprsie there, but no anger or guilt. He raised a hand and stepped back, eyes not leaving John's. 

"I'm done for today." 

Groans came from all around but Sherlock ignored them, jerking his chin to the left and turning, knowing John would follow. John was vaguely aware of two new men taking their place in the ring but didn't care. He couldn't stop thinking of how Sherlock had looked fighting in that ring. Couldn't stop staring at his friend walking just ahead of him.The muscles of his back, skin still pink and scabbed from the fall, leg with a touch of a lip from the cut, the sweat trickling down the back of his neck. John was torn between his anger and the desire to just shove Sherlock down and do more rough, physical thing to him. They reached a dressing room and Sherlock stopped just inside, grabbing a clean towel and gesturing for the lurking uniformed man to leave.

"Go ahead, John, have your say." Sherlock said, wiping his face once then staring at John from under his eye lashes as he swiped at his neck. His chest was rising hard and fast still, his skin flushed with exertion. 

John sucked in a breath. "What the hell is the point of all this?" He lurched closer, unable to stay away.

Sherlock didn't move and his eyes glittered at John. "It's just boxing, John. It's the gentleman's sport."

"No." John hissed in another breath, trying to control himself then lifted his chin and reached out again. "No, this isn't about the boxing, Sherlock. It's about whatever it is you're going through that is making you let yourself get hurt."

Sherlock flicked a hand, dropping the towel and looking down to start unwinding the tape from his hands. "Accidents." 

"Not accidents." John snapped marching forward and taking over. Sherlock's hands were only freshly healed from the burns, still probably pink and sensative. Now they were red and bleeding in a couple of places. A bloody split marred the plump curve of his lips and John could mark out the pattern of bruises that would be coloring his skin tomorrow. "You bloody reckless, idiotic, infuriating man! What could be the point of this? Why do you keep hurting yourself? I don't mind putting you together again, but this is ridiculous."

Sherlock, to John's surprsie, crowded him. He pressed close and didn't pull away from the surpringly gentle touch of the doctor's fingers. "Why?" He demanded.

John blinked up at him, startled, to find Sherlock's face close to him, eyes blade sharp and vicious. "Why do I keep doing it? Becuase I'm you're friend. Why do I want you whole? Because I care about you."

"No." Sherlock thundered and the whole thing felt out of control. John wasn't sure what he was saying let alone what Sherlock wanted to hear. "Why should I do what you say? Give me a reason, John. Why? Because you're a solider? A captain?" He demanded.

"Because I love you!" John bellowed back.

Sherlock blinked, staring and John sort of sputtered, hands full of bloody tape and not quite sure why that, of all things, had decided to fly out of his mouth. He took a deep breath but could tell from the look on Sherlock's face that it wasn't misheard or going to be easily forgotten. John dumped the tape on the floor, uncaring where it ended up. "Well, it's true." John sighed. "And you can just delete it, thanks, if you're offended because-" 

"You mean it." Sherlock said, peering closer.

John swallowed and tried not to stare. Touseled curls, covered in sweat, still breathing hard and half naked in front of him. "Well, yeah..."

Sherlock cuppsed one bloody hand around Johns jaw and pulled him up into a rough kiss. John wrapped around him immediately, hands sliding over slick bare skin and pressing so close all he could feel was Sherlock. Sherlock moaned, a deep, decadent sound and curled around him, the kiss never-ending. John didn't know how long it lasted when noise came from right outside the door. Sherlock straightened, looking dazed, his eyes all black and liquid. John swallowed thickly.

"I- love you too." Sherlock said sounding rough.

John smiled a little, breathless. "You don't have to say so, not yet."

"But I do. I think I do." Sherlock said sounding thoughtful. "I just- didn't realise it."

"All of this." John breathed, realizing. "You were after my attention. You wanted this." It was half a question and Sherlock nodded, face softening as he pulled close again.

"Yes. I just didn't realize. There's always something." 

John grinned and kissed him again.

*****

Christmas day dawned with a heavily bandaged Sherlock wrapped around a helplessly grinning John. John stroked a hand through his hair, letting him sleep as he just ran over the memories of the night before. Memories he wanted to capture forever. Taking Sherlock home and cleaning him up. There had been a long lecture about self harm and common sense that may have held more weight if it hadn't happened between kisses but John was certain it would take a couple of tellings to take anyway.

Sherlock stirred and nuzzled into John sounding sleepy when he spoke. "You're grinning."

"I have you."

"You're so easily pleased." 

John hummed in agreement. "Simple minds." He teased. Sherlock nuzzled around until he could kiss him and John smiled into it. "Happy Christmas, Sherlock."

"Happy Christmas, John."

"We should get up soon. Mrs.Hudson and Lestrade will be coming. Probably your brother as well." Sherlock made a noise of disgust. It made John laugh even though it shouldn't have. He rolled into Sherlock and just snuggled a bit, holiday preparations on hold just a few minutes longer to revel in this. 

"Sherlock," John said thoughtfully. "You were surprised yesterday." Sherlock made a vague noise and didn't open his eyes. "Yesterday when you were yelling at me to say it. It wasn't I love you that you were expecting."

"No, it surprised us both." Sherlock admitted and started kissing along John's neck which was incredible really, but a purposeful distraction. 

"So what was it?" John asked.

"Nothing." Sherlock mumbled and did a delicous nibble thing along the top of John's shoulder. 

John wriggled. "No, what was it?" He persisted.

Sherlock sighed and when John looked down he found him blushing. "I noticed you never told me, never said the words 'Doctor's orders.' " 

John blinked and frowned slighty. "What?"

Sherlock pushed upright, obviousli embarrassed and trying to be brisk to cover it. "Doctor's orders." He repeated. "You make me eat. You patch me up when I'm hurt. You make me sleep, but you never used that phrase 'Doctor's Orders' on me and I- wanted to hear it." He finished lamely.

John's confusion turned into a soft smile. "Of course not. I'm your friend first, not your doctor."

"Friend?" Sherlock asked, glancing at him cautiously.

John's smile widened. "Lover. Partner. Boyfriend. You need one."

"I do?" Sherlock asked archly.

John's grin turned wicked and he nodded, leaning down for a kiss. "Doctor's orders."


End file.
